Love

Set like Flint

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“For the Lord God helps Me, therefore, I am not disgraced; Therefore, I have set My face like flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed.”
Isaiah 50:7

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I can’t tell you how many years I have begged God to change certain circumstances in my life.  I don’t want to tell you how long I lamented those circumstances when they did not change and simply grew more difficult as years went by.  When seasons of heartache last upwards of 20 years and some 35 years and beyond, one grows weary.

By last fall, I found myself teetering on the edge of despair.

Overwhelmed by the isolation of the storms, weakened by the longevity, and discouraged by the lack of growth, help, intervention, and relationship.

Disquieted because of what seemed as silence from the heavens above in the ongoing midst of these trials.

My nature tends to be more quiet and reserved.  Life experience on top of my personal nature has caused me to become more observant and introspective as time goes by.  I understand that some people don’t like this about me.  I rarely respond as others seem to expect me to and frankly, I no longer even try to.  My soul runs deep but I am mostly gentle and simple at heart.  I am loyal until betrayed and intensely protective of those I love.  Contention, strife, game-playing, blame-shifting … these are all enemies of my soul.

I have been, unfortunately, the ultimate people-pleaser.

And this has gotten me into considerable trouble.

For much of my life, my identity was based on what I heard and perceived from others.

I gathered all the words and perceptions and I built my identity on them.

Not only that, but I carried them throughout my life.

A whole bunch of crap, tied up in a burlap bag, and strapped to my shoulders.

It was a life built on a shaky foundation.

A foundation that I knew God was systematically dismantling, but I admit that I was not fully aware that He was also in the process of rebuilding…

A new foundation grounded in truth and on Christ alone.

A foundation tested and tried because of the very trials I despised.

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Over the last number of years, my studies have often been directed towards certain portions of the Bible over and over.  Passages that the Lord knew I needed to grasp in order to change and grow within my circumstances.  For a long time, the writings of James and Paul consumed my studies as I sought to understand the purpose of trials and sufferings.  Instead of fighting against God in these storms, I needed to learn to walk through them in His strength and leading.

Then 1 Corinthians 13 became a focused part of my pondering and studies.  Learning to love others as Christ loves us is often spoken of loftily and easily.  The reality is that it is a brutal process of dying to self and learning to seek the good of others before my own.  This just does not come easily to any of us, no matter how much we like to pretend it does.

More recently, Hebrews 11 has been the focus and I have to admit, I have not always appreciated this part of my studies.  Specifically because these tremendous people of faith died, never getting a happy end to their story.

“All these died in faith, without receiving the promises,
but having seen them and welcomed them from a distance,
and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.”
Hebrews 11:13

This bothered me, to be honest, because I wanted a guarantee that I would have a happy ending here on earth.

The beauty of what is commonly known as the ‘Faith’ chapter is that these warriors of the faith, lived and died (sometimes horribly), not seeing the purpose of their sufferings and trials, yet remaining solid and true until the very end.  Their reward was not known to them on this side of eternity.

This has become achingly beautiful to me over time.  Living a life of faith and complete dependence on God, without ever knowing relief nor the reason until eternity.  These are my heroes.  These are my examples.  These are the ones I turn to when I grow weary in this journey. These are the cloud of witnesses the writer of Hebrews tells us about:

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witness surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and has set down at the right hand of the throne of God.  For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”
Hebrews 12:1-3

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Last week, I experienced something that has led to all these rambling thoughts.  An out-of-the-blue, random, and somewhat public attack on my character.

I was startled and taken aback.

Imagine it like this … envision a woman walking along her life’s journey, neither perfect nor without sin, yet minding her own business and simply accomplishing the tasks before her, when suddenly … randomly … someone hiding behind some shrubbery, hurls a rock in her direction.  A rock written with words seemingly intent to inflict harm.

The rock itself doesn’t hurt badly because it was thrown at a distance but still, it stings a little.  She finds herself knocked a bit off balance by the surprise of the attack.  Stunned by the words written on it.

She knew who threw the rock but still she looked around to see who was watching.

Would anyone come to her defense?

Had they seen the words?

Would they believe them?

She slowly reached down and picked up the rock and as she stood back up holding it, she looked directly at the thrower.

Yes, I see your words and I see you.  I see more than you realize.

And then, unsure how to respond, she turned away and continued walking because her journey doesn’t stop simply because someone else chooses to throw stones.

But she was still carrying that rock.

So what do you do with it?

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I have watched a considerable amount of stone-throwing in my lifetime.

Now, just to be clear, I am not talking about confronting a believer with the truth in Scriptures as a means of restoring them to righteousness.  That is speaking truth, even though it may come across as hurtful, for someone’s good.  It is not stone-throwing.  What I am referring to is the intentional (or sometimes even unintentional) use of words that harm or destroy a person’s character, testimony, or their emotional state.

So again I ask, what do you do if you are on the receiving end?

Well, perhaps you are like me.  I used to gather everything that was said or that I thought had been said, and I carried them across my shoulders.  Not only that, but I would look at them all the time … and I believed them.  Those rocks were my identity.   I chose those words over Christ.

Thank you Jesus for the cross and that I no longer have to carry that burden.  I still do sometimes because it is so familiar to me … but I am free to not do so.

Perhaps you are much more likely to respond quickly in anger, grabbing that stone before it can even touch the ground and hurling back towards the other person.

Matter of fact, there is a good chance you are able to grab a few extra stones lying around to send flying along as well.

Because they deserve it, of course.  

Maybe your anger doesn’t ignite that quickly but tends to simmer over time.  Eventually, the stones inspire a deep root of bitterness that seeps out through passive-aggressive, snide comments.

How dare they?  Don’t they realize how much I have done for them?  They owe me.  I’m the victim here.

Of course, sometimes we are too intimidated or maybe just unsure how to respond so we bottle it up inside until we explode onto some unfortunate, innocent soul who is completely in the dark.

Children, spouse, random grocery store clerk … 

All of these are common, instinctive responses and yet, none of them are right.

None are healthy.

None are righteous.

None follow the example of the Savior, who although completely innocent and pure (unlike you and me), stood silent before his accusers.  Nor does it follow the examples of the cloud of witnesses given to us in the book of Hebrews.

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I knelt alone, still holding that stone and reading those words.

Feeling a bit dejected and unsure …

But mostly I felt alone.

But yet, I wasn’t.  My Savior stood beside me.  The very one who set his face as flint as He stood unashamed before His accusers.  The very one who was the only innocent person to ever walk this earth and the only one without sin.

My Savior and my example.

He stood in the silence with me until I handed Him the stone and asked Him to show me what to do.  I know I am capable of any of the typical responses but I wanted His help.

Once in His hands, the truth became clear.

The words spoken of me were not true.

Neither were they my identity.

I began to understand anew the purpose of the trials, the trust that can arise from the deepest places of despair, the strength that grows from endurance, and the value of a solid new foundation grounded in the truth of a Savior.

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”
Matthew 7:24-27

 

You know,there is an interesting thing that can happen when you give an ugly stone that was intended to harm you to Jesus.   In my hands, that stone would only continue to be ugly and harmful, whether towards myself or others.  But in His hands, those words become meaningless and the ugliness of the rock transforms into a bright and shining pebble, which He carefully places to create beauty along my pathway.

Each stone serves as a reminder of who I am in Christ.

 

 

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Trust

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

I heard the first sniffle but decided to ignore it.

As well as the second … and the third.

These sniffles are often a precursor to an explosion but I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case this time.

It was late.  I was tired.

I didn’t want to do this.

In fact, I said that to my son … “Please, let’s not do this tonight.”

But, for some reason, the computer he was using would not connect to the internet, which meant he could not watch the YouTube videos he fixates on.

Which means … his button got pushed.

And before long, those sniffles led to the explosion I feared … an especially ugly one.

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I am not especially skilled in technology but over the years, since I have a son with autism who is obsessed with technology, I have gained a certain amount of knowledge.  Given some time, I can usually problem-solve and determine if it is a problem I can fix, if I need to call tech support, or if I actually need to take the computer somewhere for service.

On this night I struggled to problem solve but found it impossible given the behaviors and noise level.  My ears were ringing from the noise, my body fatigued from the day, and my head aching from the unintentional blow to the face when I got in the way of a flying elbow.

I was sure it might be an easy fix but I just could not figure it out and given my son’s loud behaviors, I couldn’t risk calling tech support for guidance.

I tried to calm my son.  I tried to explain that if he would just calm down, I could call and get help but as long as he screamed, I was not able to call.

I couldn’t begin to fix the problem as long as he continued in his behaviors.

He raged on.

He asked for ‘Internet’ over and over and over again.

But he would not do what was needed in order for me to address the problem.

I tried explaining that only that one computer wouldn’t connect to the internet.  He still had his I Pad and he could use my lap top.  There were options.

But he would not listen to the other options available to him.

He was just too angry to listen.  Too determined to have things be a certain way.

Finally, I sent him to his ‘calm-down’ chair.  It is simply a set place to get himself together … calm down … get behaviors under control.

When he finally reached a point of hovering just under the crisis line, I sank into my own ‘calming down’ spot and began to plead with the Lord.  “Please Lord, I can’t do this again.  Could you just make that computer work so we could have peace tonight?”

Oh how I long for peace.

But I’ve been down this road before and I know that God doesn’t smooth the way out for me very often.  Usually there is something to learn … something for me to teach my son … a connection that needs made … a skill to develop.

So, I followed up my plea with, “But Lord, if that peace and an easy answer isn’t what you have for us tonight, then please guide me in what to do … and provide the grace and strength that is needed.”

Because I was fresh out.

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My son stayed just below the crisis point but still fixated on the uncooperative computer.

I mostly stayed silent because I knew he wasn’t ready to listen.

But I watched and waited … wondering how the night would play out and mentally steeling myself for a disrupted night of sleep.

He finally reached a point of coping by accepting my computer as a temporary replacement.  I placed it beside his computer so he could still sit at his desk and watch his videos.

Yes, he was coping with the situation … but he was still obsessing.

Trying to control and determined how things should be … but not trusting.

Not trusting the woman who protects and looks out for him every moment of the day.

Not trusting the one who has guided him through many a trial and challenge.

Not trusting the one who loves him most dearly.

Choosing to rage and stomp in anger … instead of trusting.

As a mother who is generally patient and compassionate, it was enough to irritate me.

“Honestly,” I told the Lord, “if he would just listen and trust me, life wouldn’t have to be this stressful.”

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My son has autism and his obsessive, controlling nature is part of it … but it is also part of his sin nature.  He is determined for things to be a certain way.  He is also very smart and able to learn … but we still have to walk through these behaviors almost every time something happens to disrupt his sense of control.

As his mother, I long for him to simply turn to me and allow me to walk him through the challenges of this life without all the drama and anger.  I love this young man and I work constantly to teach him the needed skills to live the freest and fullest life possible.

His autism is not his greatest obstacle … his anger and need for control is.

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Friend, you likely do not have autism, but I wonder if you can relate to my son’s struggle?

I know I can.

I want life to be a certain way.  To look a certain way.

There are certain things that I want to be in place so I feel safe and loved.

I don’t like disruptions and truthfully, I really hate it when I am reminded that I am not in control.

However, how we respond in the challenges, disruptions, and crises of life is a pretty clear indicator of our level of trust in the Lord.

Are our responses similar to those of my son?  Do we fly into an immediate rage and stomp about in anger?  Do we panic and assume the worst is about to happen?  Do we seek control over others and the situation?  Do we rant and destroy others with our tongues in this place of anger or fear?

As our Father in heaven watches, what do our responses to these temporal situations tell Him?  I wonder if He feels the same frustration I sometimes feel with my son?

The same grief as I watch him struggle with the same thing over and over?

The same desire to see freedom and growth?

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I have spent a lot of time over the years pondering my relationship with my son and my relationship with God the Father.  But this week, I considered how deeply I long for my son to trust me fully.  To rest in my care and guidance.  And I had to ask myself, how much more does God the Father desire for me to trust Him in all things?  To rest in His sovereign care and guidance?

I work to be a good and Godly mother to my children but my best efforts will always be tarnished by sin.  But God’s love is holy and pure, untouched by sin.

“If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give what is good to those who ask him!”
Matthew 7:11

My thoughts on this topic are still developing so I am sure what I have written is a bit jumbled.  But I will share anyways because I wonder if this line of thought might also be helpful for someone else?  Maybe it would be helpful to consider how you respond when life gets disrupted and seems to spin out of your control?  Perhaps it would be good to ask the Lord how responsive you are to His leading and discipline?  How obedient to His call?  How trusting of His guidance and plans for your life?

What a gracious and long-suffering Father He is.

 

 

How Can It Be A ‘Good Friday’?

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

“One day when Heaven Was filled with His praises,
One day when sin was As black as could be,
Jesus came forth To be born of a virgin,
Dwelt among men, my example is He!”

 

It is has been an almost unparalleled season of trial.

So much so that our beloved Easter season is upon us and I am completely unprepared.

I have nothing to give my children, true, but even more than that …

my heart hasn’t felt prepared.

I haven’t done the reading I typically do.

I haven’t thought about the days leading up to Christ death.

I simply have not prepared my heart as I tend to do during this season.

By yesterday, as I stumbled through the day on two hours of sleep, kept after my 18 year old son with autism who seems to have reengaged in behaviors from his younger years during this spring break, and did all the work a mother needs to do whether she is sleep-deprived or not, I felt crushed beneath the weight of the load.  I have felt this way for months but this week has felt too much.

I went to bed feeling somewhat defeated.

Such is the case when the trials of life are of the long-term variety and your journey tends to be one of isolation and loneliness.

Sometimes your body just begins to break down and your spirit groans within you.

Sometimes you just lay in your bed too weary to weep, too broken to speak, yet too overwhelmed to sleep.

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“…He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me, yet not My will, but Yours be done.” Now an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened Him. And being in agony He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.”  Luke 22:41-44

 

After a somewhat challenging night of sleep, I woke this morning and was immediately reminded that it was Good Friday.

The day we Christians observe the sacrifice and overwhelming love of our Savior.

When He, after a lonely night of agonizing prayer to God the Father, He submitted His will and prepared to lay down His life … for mine.

And yours.

How can this Friday possibly be considered ‘good’?

Propelling my exhausted body off the couch at the insistence of my dog who wanted to go outside, I began to make my way through the house, letting her out, making coffee, and trying to wake fully.

When I did, I saw the beauty of sunshine.

I saw green grass and yellow forsythias blooming.

I saw trees filled with the promise of spring as buds filled their branches.

I saw new life.

And I began to ponder this day in history.

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“One day they led Him up Calvary’s mountain,
One day they nailed Him to die on the tree;
Suffering anguish, despised and rejected:
Bearing our sins, my Redeemer is He!

 

Sometimes I wonder what Jesus was thinking as He stood before Pilate and Herod.  When He was struck and beaten, scorned and reviled, mocked and stripped?

How did He endure such torment and torture?

When He fell beneath the weight of the cross on the way to Golgotha, was Heaven on His mind?  Or was it the reason for his sacrifice?

The creation that He came to redeem.

When He laid down on the cross, holding still as the soldiers nailed him fast …

When they hoisted the cross into the air, jolting his already broken body …

As He struggled to breathe while listening to the crowd mock and jeer …

Feeling a separation from His Father for the first time …

And all the darkness rejoicing to see the One they hated suffer …

Was He thinking, “One day, a child is going to cry out for forgiveness and because of this day, I will be able to forgive her and call her my own.”?

“One day that child of Mine will face incredible heartache and grief and will want to give up but because of what I am enduring, I will be able to help her endure.”

“One day she will feel broken but because of my brokenness, she will be healed.”

“And one day I will bring her home with Me to heaven and I will wipe away all her tears because sin will no longer touch her life.”

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“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness fell over the whole land until the ninth hour, because the sun was obscured; and the veil of the temple was torn in two.  And Jesus, crying out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into Your hands, I commit My Spirit.” Having said this, He breathed His last.”  Luke 23:44-46

 

Have you ever wondered what all transpired in the time after Jesus spoke those words and in the days following?

The immense grief and fear of His followers as they cared for his broken body and placed Him in a borrowed tomb?

The awed silence in Heaven as the angels waited and watched?

The laughter and wicked rejoicing from all the powers of darkness and hell?

Sometimes this is what life feels like to us too.

Times of grief … times of waiting … times of uncertainty … times of silence while the wicked rejoice and seemingly thrive.

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“One day the grave Could conceal Him no longer,
One day the stone rolled away from the door;
Then He arose, over death He had conquered;
Now is ascended, my Lord evermore!”

 

I like to ponder that moment in heaven when God the Father told the angels it was time.

After three days of silence while watching the masses of hell scream in victory, it was time for the true Victor to rise.

The earth shook and the massive stone was rolled away as Jesus Christ broke free from the cruel clutches of death and stood at the door of His tomb … no longer in His broken earthly body, but standing tall as the risen and holy Son of God.

The quiet of heaven must have broken forth with glorious song as the powers darkness and hell now watched in stunned silence.

And then days later, that same Jesus, who had come to this earth as a baby, lived, loved, and served before dying an agonizing death on the cross, rose into the heavens taking His rightful place beside His Father.

The Lamb.

The Sacrifice.

Our Redeemer.

The One who paid the penalty of sin and death so we don’t have to.

The One who defeated sin and stands before the Father making intercession for us.

The One who is well-acquainted with grief and who helps us bear our sorrows.

Because He lives, we can face tomorrow with confidence, peace, and joy, knowing we are secure in Him.

It is a Good Friday indeed.

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“One day the trumpet will sound for His coming,
One day the skies with His glory will shine;
Wonderful day, my beloved One bringing;
Glorious Savior, this Jesus is mine!

Living, He loved me; dying, He saved me;
Buried, He carried my sins far away;
Rising He justified freely forever:
One day He’s coming– O glorious day!”

  ~One Day written by J.Wilbur Chapman (1910)~

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~ A Girl, A Dress, and Jesus ~

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

My niece is getting married this summer and she has asked my 13 (soon to be 14) year old daughter, MB, to be her junior bridesmaid.  I am so excited this precious niece of mine is marrying such a wonderful man, but what makes it all even sweeter is having my daughter invited to be a part of the ceremony.

The wedding plans are being pulled together in a relatively short period of time and finding a dress for my daughter did not seem to be that difficult of a challenge, especially in comparison to finding a venue, the bride’s dress, or a caterer.  The fact that my niece lives a few hours away and is only able to visit home on occasional weekends, pushed the search for a bridesmaid dress lower and lower on the to-do list.

We finally found an open window with my niece (and Grandma) to visit our only local bridal store (local for us means a 45 minute drive) on a Sunday afternoon in the midst of an exceptionally busy weekend, which had left my ‘shopping-intolerant’ daughter already exhausted.

We met our consultant, ‘Cricket’ (Isn’t that the most fun name??), and began looking through the fairly small selection of junior bridesmaid dresses and picking out a few for MB to try on.  One, in particular, we were hoping would work because it was similar to what another attendant would be wearing and we knew it could be ordered in time in the color we needed.  Each dress was quickly dismissed by my daughter for simply not fitting her petite frame well or feeling very uncomfortable.

Except one.

Cricket brought a dress to the fitting room that I had eyed earlier but which had been dismissed because of its vibrant design. She suggested my daughter try it as she assured us that it could be ordered in the mint green color our bride desired.  MB tried it on, slowly opened the dressing room door, and there she stood with the first smile of the appointment!  She loved this dress and we loved it on her — it was absolutely perfect!

We were sure this was ‘the one.’

Then Cricket cautioned us not to get too excited because said she needed to make sure it could be ordered in time for the quickly approaching June wedding.  All of our hearts sank as she came back, shaking her head, and informing us that it was absolutely impossible to get this dress in time.  The soonest it would arrive in the needed mint green was a full month AFTER the wedding.  We were so disappointed and I watched my daughter wilt as she tried on more dresses, wanting to please everyone, but feeling dreadfully uncomfortable.  That unattainable dress was the only one she liked and felt comfortable in … the only one that was guaranteed to arrive in time was the one she hated most of all and felt the most uncomfortable in.

Finally, I called a halt.  I suggested that we stop for the day and that we would come back another day, just my daughter and I.  Our consultant agreed and told me to call and make an appointment with her … she insisted she would be able to find something.

I made an appointment for the following Saturday and tried not to think too much about it.  I saw the selection and knew we didn’t have a lot of options.  I checked local department stores, but none seemed to carry anything remotely appropriate for the wedding.  I kept praying about it and finally, Saturday morning, I asked the Lord to somehow provide a way for my daughter to get the dress she loved in the mint green color, despite the clear impossibilities, or if not that one, to provide another dress that she would love and be just as comfortable in.  I just wanted her to feel comfortable, beautiful, and wrapped in love for this very special day.  We all did.

We arrived a little before 4:00 for our appointment, only to learn that our appointment was actually scheduled for 4:30 and our consultant was working with a bride.  The lady at the front desk said that if we didn’t want to wait, other consultants were available and even though my time-efficiency instinct started to kick in, I felt deep inside that we needed to wait for Cricket.  So I told her we would wait and simply look around, which I did with a reluctant daughter in tow.  I finally drew out of her that she had convinced herself that she needed to get that one dress that we knew would arrive on time, even if she hated it for herself.

We only had to wait a few minutes before our consultant successfully sold her bride a lovely wedding dress and was ready for us.  We did decide to try that hated dress on once more in a bigger size, as well as, another one that I had found.  She started with the second dress and liked it but before we could celebrate, Cricket warned us that this dress probably wouldn’t arrive on time for the June wedding either.  So, with a heavy heart, I asked my daughter to try on the first dress … the hated one.

She tried it on and we helped zipper the back only to discover it was a size too big so Cricket decided to have her try on a smaller size  … a size six. As we waited for her to bring it to us, I watched with sadness as my daughter squirmed and itched and pulled at her dress.  I knew that the size six would not feel any more comfortable for her and that she was miserable in the dress.  But I also knew that given the time restraints, at the present time, it seemed our only option.

My heart cried out to the Lord to do something for her because I felt powerless.

Cricket brought her the dress in a size 6 and as my daughter was changing, she told me that she wanted to go grab another dress.  She said it was a really cute dress, it was actually in the mint green color we needed, and it was a size 6 … just like the dress my girl was trying on.

So she went to get it while I waited and hoped for a miracle.

And then she returned,  carrying a lovely, mint green, flowing dress …

the VERY DRESS my daughter had tried on the week before and LOVED!

The very dress we were told could never arrive in time for our June wedding.

Right there in front of me.

I am sure my jaw hit the floor as I exclaimed to the consultant that it was the same dress … the one we wanted so badly from the week before.  She looked at it again and her eyes widened before getting all excited herself.   She shared with me that this particular dress had been driving her crazy all day because it had been hanging by itself in the wrong section and every time she walked by it, she noticed it but she never had time to put it away.  Because she saw it all day and because it bothered her all day, it came to mind as she was helping us.

She then said in a hushed, awe-filled voice, “I think it must have been set aside in the wrong place because this dress was meant for Mary Beth.  It was just waiting for her to get here.”

I smiled as I remembered my cry to the Lord that morning and simply said, “Oh, I know it was.”

My daughter, completely unaware of what was transpiring outside her door, slowly opened it and asked if I could zipper the back.  I refused and told her that we had another dress to try on first and moved aside so she could see the dress Cricket was holding … oh, her face was pure delight as she immediately recognized it!

The next time she opened the door, her face was glowing and her trademark smile was back in place.  Cricket told her she looked beautiful and she glowed even more.  Cricket gave the dress a going over and while it was a little too big, she felt sure it could easily be altered to fit MB’s petite frame.

This dress, the only dress my daughter loved and which had been absolutely unavailable to us just a week before, arrived at the bridal store in the days between our first and second appointments … in the very color we needed.  Then on Saturday, it was misplaced and set apart in a section that caught Cricket’s attention all day until the very moment when she was drawn to it for Mary Beth.  The right color … an easily alterable size … the perfect dress.

Usually these dresses have to be ordered but Cricket said that this dress was meant for Mary Beth so she sold it to us, right off the rack.  It was even on sale!

As we walked towards the counter, all of us smiling and in complete awe of what had just transpired, my niece sent me a text asking how the dress search was going. We all stopped in the middle of the store as I texted her the picture I had taken of my daughter wearing the beautiful dress with a delighted smile to match … it was such a wonderful moment of shared joy between all of us.

At 4:31, one minute after our scheduled appointment time, I walked out of the store with the perfect dress in one arm and my other arm wrapped around my sweet daughter.  As the doors fell shut behind us, I said softly into her ear, “Oh my darling, do you have any idea how much Jesus must love you?”

She simply gave her little giggle, smiled her most beautiful smile, and said “Yes, I think so.”

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Life is hard.  Many of us fight incredibly battles every day and the journey can be wearisome.  I know there is often a temptation to doubt God, be disappointed in the continual hardships, and maybe even give in to despair.  But this is the beauty of a journey with Christ … even when the path is hard, He is caring and providing for us.  Maybe not always in the way we want or think we need … but He is always at work on our behalf.

He loves us so deeply, even if we aren’t always aware of it.

Sometimes it is a friend offering to bring a meal when she learns you are sick.

Sometimes it is a card in the mail or maybe a phone call.

Sometimes it is the lovely bloom of the first flowers of spring after a long, hard winter.

And sometimes, it is the perfect junior bridesmaid dress … in mint green.

 

Finding Rest in the Lonely Journey

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If the Lord sets you to guard a lonely post in perfect stillness from all active work, you ought to be just as content as to be in the midst of the active warfare.  It is no virtue to love the Master’s work better than the Master’s will.
Hannah Whitall Smith

 

It’s been awhile since I have written here because my life has been a whirlwind for the last several months.  A whirlwind of challenge after challenge and while I do have blog posts started and others floating around in my mind, this really isn’t one of them.

One thing I have learned about myself is that I have thinking seasons when I am battling through the challenges of life and learning about God and His ways and then I enter processing seasons when I can articulate those musings in writing.

This season of challenge started last fall when my son with autism entered one of his more difficult times of intense anxiety and anger.  Coping with that personally, while desperately trying to help him, homeschooling my other children, teaching a homeschool co-op class, and trying to keep everything as stable as possible for my family as a whole, took a serious toll on me.  Those I turned to for help didn’t seem to understand the depth of the struggle so I worked through it alone, realizing the greatest loneliness of my life.

In November, I injured my knee and that, compounded with a shoulder injury that happened in August when my 200+ lb son had a massive meltdown on one of our walks, and a strong negative reaction to medication I was taking, knocked me down even more.  Physically, I have always been very strong and able to withstand and rebound from almost anything, but this time, I found myself in constant pain and not recovering well at all.

December eventually brought relief for my son as his doctor added a new anxiety medicine and he began to smile once more.  What a blessed reprieve that was for everyone and I found my own spirits lifting somewhat as a result of not dealing with his intense anger issues day after day.

January and February were filled with school closings and delays for my oldest son and this created a fair amount of disruption and schedule changes for him, my other children’s homeschooling and co-op, and for me as I had to cancel quite a bit on my calendar and work in my cleaning jobs days when I could.

When I accepted that the knee pain was not going away and was limiting what I could do, I visited my doctor and learned that a ligament was stretched and inflammed and the meniscus were likely torn.  This led to wearing a knee brace and taking inflammatory medication for two weeks, which helped the inflammed ligament but not the torn meniscus.  I found this out the hard way when I was walking across the parking lot of our local grocery store and my leg completely gave out and cramped up so badly, I couldn’t move or put any weight on it.  I had to call my husband to come pick me up, drive me back across the parking lot to my van so I could drive it back home (using my right, uninjured knee of course).  I was completely incapacitated for a couple of days and could only move around using crutches and eventually a cane.  I eventually saw an orthopedic doctor who gave me a cortisone shot, which provided significant relief allowing me to cautiously return to most of my activities, including regular exercise.

When I went in for my physical earlier this week, my doctor and I discussed the likelihood of future surgery for my knee and she determined that my left shoulder has a strained and inflammed rotator cuff.  I didn’t bother to mention the discomfort I woke up with in my right shoulder because I figured I had only slept on it wrong and it would soon work itself out.

Boy, was I wrong!

By that evening, I was in agony.  A throbbing pain in my right shoulder that kept me awake all night as I struggled in vain to find a position that would allow me enough comfort to rest.  In the morning, I didn’t say anything to anyone but silently dealt with the pain as I got my son with autism off to school, my other children started on their day, and prepared to finally be able to attend a ladies Bible study at our church.  I felt very rough but figured the pain in my shoulder would eventually have to ease.  I was only at Bible study a short time before I received a text that I was needed at home so I swallowed my disappointment and left.  I am so glad I did.  The pain in my shoulder began to spread down my arm and throughout my right side, as my fingers tingled and grew numb.  By that evening, I noticed a couple of odd spots on my wrist and hand and experienced some of the most intense pain of my life, while my body responded with a low-grade fever.

To my dismay, the next day I was diagnosed with shingles.  A illness I had previously believed only affected folks much older than I.  My family was very surprised when I shared this news and admitted to how much pain I was in but now they have watched the rash/blisters spread and seen my lips whiten with pain when I attempt to do certain tasks.  They are stepping up to help as much as possible.

So, here I am this morning … the shingles have not responded to the medication as I had hoped and I am still in significant discomfort.  My right hand (and arm up to my elbow) is covered in a painful rash and only my index finger tip has been spared, allowing me to slowly peck away at these words.  My shoulder and ribs still ache from the pain but thankfully, it is nothing like it was earlier this week. I am exhausted from the toll this illness has taken on me, as well as, from my own sleep disturbances and those of my son.

However, what I have learned from each ugly battle of this long season of trial more than makes up for any hardship.  The Lord has been so gracious every step of the way and I have learned more from Him than ever before.  It has been a journey of settling into my own identity, following His voice, letting go of the past, walking in Truth, and practicing contentment in every circumstance.  As a result, I feel more loved and cared for by Him than ever before, which allows me to love and care for others more freely than ever before.  My relationship with my children, most especially, has blossomed even more abundantly.

I have learned the beautiful gift of prayer and surrender.  I have learned that it is a privilege to lift the names and burdens of others to this Shepherd who walks with me and, as a result of my own trials, I have learned a greater compassion for those who suffer far more than I.

I have also learned that I have nothing to prove and it is okay to walk alone.

It has been a lonely journey but, through it all, I have learned to rest.

To rest physically with awareness of my own needs…

To rest inwardly with the practice of contentment in all things…

And ultimately, to rest fully in the safety of my Savior’s love.

 

“Contentment, then, is the product of a heart resting in God.  It is the soul’s enjoyment of that peace that passes all understanding.  It is the outcome of my will being brought into subjection to the Divine will.  It is the blessed assurance that God does all things well, and is, even now, making all things work together for my ultimate good.”
A.W. Pink

Life

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Her Story

46 years ago, a woman was expecting a baby.  She was already the mother to an eight year old daughter and a five year old son.  She had severe endometriosis and, by all reasonable thought, should not have been able to conceive another baby.

Yet, to her surprise, she did.

She visited the Obstetrician and when she expressed her wonder at the unexpected pregnancy, the doctor informed her, quite seriously, that she did not have to keep this baby.  It was now legal for her to have an abortion.  The woman was horrified at his words and quickly told the doctor that she wanted her baby.

She wanted me.

This is my Mother’s story and I was the baby that the doctor offered to abort.

My Story

Close to 19 years ago, I sat huddled in a ball on my bathroom floor, as my hands shook and silent tears slid down my cheeks.  I was holding my first, long-awaited, positive pregnancy test.  Only I knew the depth of heartache that had transpired before I held that test in my hands.

Because of those secrets, I wanted to hold this most precious secret close to my heart until I was ready to share the good news, but just six weeks along in the pregnancy, I began to bleed.  Not little amounts but huge, massive clots.  What followed were weeks upon weeks of appointments, blood work, and ultrasounds, as doctors worked to monitor the life of my baby and determine what was going wrong.  I was told that I would most likely lose this precious little life.

I remember looking at the massive clots as they left my body, trying to discern if my baby was among them.  I remember taking the very first images of my baby taken from an early ultrasound to our family members so we could share the good news of life and the potential bad news of death.  In those images, my baby was only weeks in the process of life and yet, there he was … a beautiful, tiny person, in his own right.

By the time I was halfway through the pregnancy, the bleeding had stopped and even though the doctors believed that everything had stabilized, I lived in constant fear that I might still lose this life valiantly fighting inside me.

I remember the 20 week ultrasound and the incredible relief I felt when I saw my baby; His fingers and toes, his beating heart, and wiggling body that seemed intent on escaping from the Ultrasound Technician’s pursuit.  I remember my eyes filling with tears as I learned my baby truly was okay and thriving inside of me.

For the first time, I felt free to enjoy the journey of pregnancy and soon, fully embraced the journey.

I remember the flutter inside when my little one grew large enough to make his presence known.

I remember his little feet seeming as though he was trying to kick his way out as he grew larger.

I remember my belly rolling from one side to the other as he wiggled and squirmed.

I remember the odd sensation when he developed a case of the hiccups.

I remember the feeling of life growing inside of me.

Instinct to protect this little life grew stronger with each passing day.

I woke in the early morning hours of February 28. 2001 to a puddle of water in my bed … three and a half weeks before my due date.  I was alone and terribly afraid for myself and my baby.

I called my husband, who was states away driving truck.  I called the mid-wife, who told me to get to the hospital.  Then I called my parents, who drove me there.

What followed was a long, uncertain day and finally, a rushed and rough delivery with numerous issues along the way.

But finally, this little life was born.

My son, Tyler Jacob.

At 37 1/2 weeks gestation.

Perfectly formed.

Completely whole.

And absolutely beautiful.

That night, as I finally dropped into an exhausted slumber, my sweet baby lay in the hospital nursery, fresh from his bath, and sleeping himself.  The nurse was caring for another newborn when she looked over and noticed he was turning blue.

He had stopped breathing.

He was taken to the NICU where he stopped breathing several more times.

His 6 lb 4 oz body looked so tiny when I finally was able to hold him in my arms once more.  I rarely left his side for the next six days.  They kept me as long as they possibly could but soon discharged me and sent me home, leaving my heart behind with that tiny boy.

Each day I went back down to the hospital and sat beside him.  I watched the nurses and doctors work lovingly and diligently over the many babies in that NICU.  I watched other parents hover and care for their often, very ill babies.

I remember the day we finally were able to bring Tyler home.  I dressed him in the newborn outfit that completely engulfed his tiny frame.  The nurses took his picture and then we carefully placed him in his car seat for the journey home.  As all of this was transpiring, a mother sitting across from us was holding one of her twin preemies who was failing.  The baby was connected to all kinds of wires and life-giving support as the mother nestled her close for skin-to-skin contact.  Their Priest stood nearby as he prepared to baptized this little life.  I saw as that dear mother wept wave after wave of silent tears as she tried to say good-bye to the precious life she worked so hard to save.

I have never forgotten that mother … or her tiny, desperately ill baby.

And I certainly did not know what battles lay ahead for my own baby.

The Value of Life

Just over a week ago, I learned that the state of New York legalized abortion right up until birth for any reason.  I read the words before going to bed but I could not process the images rolling through my mind.

When I woke the next day, I watched news footage of the bill being signed and people … those voted into office … rising to their feet, with huge smiles on their faces, and applauding.  I watched the One World Trade Center as it was lit up pink in celebration.

I was overwhelmed with grief as I considered the absolute disregard and even hatred for human life.

I was deeply troubled as I considered all the precious lives callously tossed aside in our pursuit of freedom and self-indulgence.

I have never understood why some lives seem to have value, while others are treated as though they do not.

Some of my favorite passages of Scripture to read to my son with autism are from Psalm 139.  I have always wanted him to understand that his life, even severely impacted with autism and often devalued in the eyes of the world around him, has immense value in the eyes of His creator.

“For You formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.
I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;
Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.”
Psalm 139:13-16

I believe every life has value.

Every life.

Every life impacted with a disability …

Every life currently waiting in the foster care system …

Every life living in abuse and neglect …

Every life sitting in a nursing home …

Every baby, whether wanted by his/her parents or not …

Life in all respects has value not because we get to determine the value of others but because God already has.

As I ponder on current (and past) events and consider all the death, abuse, and hatred I see in the news and all around me, I am troubled and can only whisper words of sorrow towards  those who will never hear me and then extend love and kindness to all I can.  I wish the world was different.  I wish we understood the value of all human life and I wish we loved each other as He loves us.  Especially towards those who cannot speak for themselves.

“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”
John 15:12